


Two Sundays in Bed, and the Year in Between

by oxymoron



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-09
Updated: 2009-02-09
Packaged: 2019-01-19 12:39:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12410475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxymoron/pseuds/oxymoron
Summary: Daisy Hookum never planned to give up magic for a year.





	Two Sundays in Bed, and the Year in Between

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. It was written for the UR Fic Exchange '08, as a gift for Sharon (Merle), who requested a fic about Daisy Hookum.

Daisy Hookum, famous author of _My Life as a Muggle_ , likes to tell people that she never planned to write a bestseller.

"In fact," she adds in a confidential whisper, "if I had known that it would mean getting invitations to all those formal dinners where they assign me the seat next to Gilderoy Lockhart, I would have burned every copy myself."

That part is a lie. She loves the attention (even if the price is Lockhart). But it is true that she never planned to live as a Muggle for a year.

"It's all Tilden's fault," she says, giving her husband a peck on the cheek. "He's the one who should really get those dinner invitations."

 

**************

 

It's Sunday morning and they are lying in bed, listening to the WWN. Tilden loves the radio; he dreams of having his own show one day. There's a report about Muggle Hallowe'en traditions, and Tilden asks her: "Have you ever wondered what being a Muggle is like?"

She turns to see him staring up at the ceiling. "Not really." Shrugging: "Would be interesting, though. We should try it, for a week or so. Must be funny."

He laughs at her. "You do it, then."

The next day, she empties her Gringotts account, changes the money (356 Galleons, 6 Sickles, 3 Knuts) into a thick wad of paper slips and a handful of strange coins, and buys a paper with ads for flats at a kiosk on Charing Cross Road.

 

**************

 

After half a day, she suspects that this was a stupid idea. But she cannot go back to Tilden just like that–it would prove that she didn't even try. After three days, she _knows_ it was a stupid idea. But she cannot go back to Tilden now–it would prove that she tried and couldn't do it.

She hasn't found a flat that is even close to being affordable, and she is convinced that the manager of her dingy hotel has started debating whether or not to call whoever it is the Muggles call to take care of a severely disoriented maniac in her twenties. Daisy is deeply and personally offended. How was she to know that you shouldn't lean down too closely in front of the strange metal box on the breakfast buffet because it will shoot hot bread in your face?

 

**************

 

On the bright side, she decides, all that drama and deprivation must make for a really good piece for the _Daily Prophet_.

 

**************

 

Success comes in small steps, and each triumph feels like a tiny victory in a losing battle.

She masters the Muggle radio in a day, and silently thanks Tilden.

By day four, she knows what all the switches and plugs in her room are for. (The remote control for the TV is still a mystery.)

After a week, the queue at the supermarket checkout no longer starts to whisper threats while she fumbles for money.

On the thirteenth day, she overhears two women who look about her age in a park. One of them is looking for a flatmate. Daisy has never been shy, and she is desperate.

The rent is more than she can afford, but less than a lot of other offers she has seen. The flat is bright, clean and completely furnished. When she signs the contract, Daisy feels like she is finally starting to conquer this world.  

 

**************

 

Jess is very nice, very open, and very solicitous that Daisy should feel comfortable in her new home. Daisy wishes she would stop talking and fussing already so she can inspect the flat in private. There are many more switches, buttons and remote controls here than at the hotel.

Instead, they make themselves comfortable at the kitchen table with a bottle of wine. She has no idea what to reply when Jess asks about her job, so she tells the truth.

"I'm a journalist, but I don't have permanent employment at the moment. I just sell stories to a paper every now and then."

"Anything I might have read?"

"I really doubt it."  

 

**************

 

In October, Jess invites her to spend Hallowe'en with some of her friends. Daisy has no costume, and neither time nor money to buy one, but she remembers the WWN report that sent her into this mess and puts on the yellow and black dress robes she bought for her Hogwarts graduation.

She earns a lot of compliments for her robes. A girl in a frilly red dress asks about her costume, and because Daisy has had a little too much punch, she tells her that she is Helga Hufflepuff, the most talented witch of the Founder era. The girl is silent for a second before she invites Daisy to some sort of Muggle dress-up party.

"It's called live action role-playing. We all play characters in another world, sort of like in _Lord of the Rings_."

Daisy gives her a blank look.

"Oh, you know, like it's the Middle Ages, but with all kinds of fantasy stuff. Magic and elves, that kind of thing."

 

**************

 

The day Daisy discovers roller coasters, she knows that she won't write a newspaper article. Not even a story for a magazine. She will write a book.  

 

**************

 

She leads a good life. She has a home, and friends, and even a job as a waitress in a café where the regulars love her because of her eccentric stories. She savours the richness of Muggle culture, gorging herself on books, newspapers, films and plays. She learns new things almost every day, but she is no longer overwhelmed. She blends in. Her book grows.

One day, she is walking down a street and hears a song playing from an open window. Almost unconsciously, she stops under the ledge and listens until the last notes of are cut off by an ad for a local sale and she is terribly embarrassed about the lump in her throat.

_People are strange, when you're a stranger...  
_

 

**************

 

Staying in touch is hard. She sends letters to Muggleborn friends, and they pass them along. After two months, she arranges a meeting with Tilden in a café, and knows that she has made a mistake when he comes in wearing a fake police uniform, a red apron, and a scowl. They both scream a lot, and when she comes home, Jess helps her remove the chocolate mousse from her hair.

 

Four weeks later, she sends him a box of stamps and coins for his birthday, along with a detailed description of the workings of telephone booths and letter boxes.

He asks her to come back once or twice a month, until she is glad to discover that she has run out of excuses. Her book is done.  

 

**************

 

She has never been good at letting go. It's the Hufflepuff in her.

She did not cry this entire year, not once, but she's bawling when she hugs Jess for their final goodbye and repeats the lie about the job she found in Scotland. The distance is grossly exaggerated and severely underestimated.  

 

**************

 

It's Sunday morning and they are lying in bed. The radio is on, but they hardly listen; they still have enough stories to share between them. There's a report about Celestina Warbeck's third marriage, and Tilden asks her: "Have you ever wondered what being married is like?"

She turns to see him staring up at the ceiling, and a slow smile spreads across her face. "Not really." Shrugging: "Would be interesting, though."

He shifts to face her, and returns her smile.

 

 

****************************************************

 


End file.
